Tales of Lahan 2-Book Set: Tales of Lahan

By A. H. Anderson

Now compiled in a compelling eBook collection, immerse yourself in the tapestry of the boundless fantasy realm of the Tales of Lahan series with this exceptional 2-book box set, an offering that unveils the first two instalments of the epic five-book series.

IN THE EYE OF THE CROW
THE PLIGHT OF THE ISLE

 

As a princess, she was a bridge. As a queen, she's a hammer.

With her marriage mending the ancient divide between Elves and Humans, Nara Crawforde knows a thing or two about political prowess. From the moment the queen's crown touched her head, Nara learned she had to be willing to sacrifice everything for the good of her kingdom.

Now, unrest is brewing in Lahan. Despite her uncle's claim that the enemy lies in the rival land of Grunid, Nara fears the real threat lurks within her own family.

When her eldest daughter, Princess Aela, disappears from her chambers, Nara struggles to hold onto her inheritance as traitors step out of the shadows and reveal themselves as some of her closest allies.

IN THE EYE OF THE CROW and THE PLIGHT OF THE ISLE are the first two books in the TALES OF LAHAN series.

READING ORDER:
In the Eye of the Crow
The Plight of the Isle
The Songs of Sorrow
The Unyielding
The Shielded Place

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. H. Anderson
• Release date: Jul 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224483501

Book preview

Chapter 1

Nara

THE QUEEN OF LAHAN loosed the string from her grip, and the goose feather fletching brushed her cheek as the arrow travelled.

It sailed between the lissom trunks, and Nara’s stomach leapt when the iron head pierced the hide of the mule deer, sinking into the heart. She dug her heels into her mare’s sides and cantered after the sprinting deer, losing sight of the animal. Her gaze combed the wooded forest, brow low as she reined in her mount while her hunting party caught up with her. She held up a hand to stop them. There was only one set of hooves she wished to hear.  A flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, a glimmer in the dappled beams slipping between the branches. She yanked the reins, steering, kicking her heels once more and bringing the beast to a gallop.

The stag slowed as they reached him. He was walking and bleeding, panting as he lay down on his side, seeing his pursuers but lacking the energy to run any longer. Nara dismounted and approached the quarry, the mort sounded. She stooped to her knees, slipped her dagger from its sheath, reaching out a gloved hand to place on the creature’s heaving abdomen while the blade ended the suffering. There was one last warm breath, seeping as a thin cloud into the dewy morning air from the wet black nose.

The queen beamed a grin as she rose to her feet, swiping the blood from her leather gloves onto a cloth. Her men dismounted to lift the kill.

Nara strode into the great hall with the party behind her. They carried the deer off to the kitchens as servants arrived to attend the queen. They took the leather cuffs from her forearms and the breastplate from her front, tutting to each other and fussing over the blood that stained her tunic. The rest of the day would not be so enjoyable as that morning. The jolly smile would fall from the queen’s face when she was made to sit in her study with the house steward. But she was afforded her morning hunt—that would have to do.

Nara’s head was stuffed with knowledge from the moment she could form a sentence. She was the only child born for her father, and Lahan would someday be hers to rule, as well as the provinces of the lords. So, she was made to learn. She had nursery ornaments decorated with crows and the family’s motto in the Old Tongue embroidered on her swaddle blankets.

Nara reclined at the cedar desk her father once boasted, her booted feet sitting atop it as the steward droned on. She took comfort in the fact that Bernard Vega still assisted her. She did not know a single moment of her life where he wasn’t present. Indeed, he delivered her when she was born. He still served her family with complete loyalty, a trait increasingly difficult to find.

After informing her on matters of court and state, Bernard told her of more interesting things concerning her extended family—things he knew she would find amusing.

Your cousin Lady Flarense has just brought another child, Bernard said. A boy.

Nara snorted. Red of hair or black?

Red, if I do recall.

She shook her head. Looking at those children is like looking at a deck of cards. What’s the name then?

Clive. After your grandfather.

I suppose they’ll expect something in it for them.

Lady Flarense admires your family. Bernard sniffed, his white moustache twitching.

Nara’s mouth curved into a wry smile. And Lord Edvin admires my throne.

Bernard brushed a hand through the air, dismissing her biting raillery as nothing more than that. As they may, as they may. What lord of Lahan looks upon the throne and fails to admire it? Yet you’ll scarce find men so loyal as the Harrises, my Queen. He scratched his bearded cheek. Hm, by my troth.

Nara gazed at him, smiling in contentment. Have you seen my daughters today, sir?

Playing in the courtyard, last I saw, my lady. They seemed happy.

Not fighting? Nara added with a smirk. A rarity.

You raise strong daughters.

They must be. They squabbled as soon as Haven could speak, I assume they’ll do so ever more. Nara gazed off in thought, before she returned to the present. Anything else, sir?

Lord Greysen and Lady Alfreda are well on their way from Oland. They’ll be arriving within a fortnight.

Nara pursed her lips. That was one visit she didn’t await with eagerness. Very well, she rasped, having nothing else to add.

By your leave, my Queen. Bernard ran his hand through his wispy beard before departing. Nara remained in the study, pondering. She considered the baby gift they would send to her cousin, and the levy she intended to pass that evening. She hated to tax the people more than she needed to, but something was brewing. Soon, it would be needed, Nara was certain.

The queen found her daughters where Bernard said they were, playing in the courtyard. It was a bitter day, and it looked as though it would rain. Nara pulled her fur collar to her red ears as the clacking of wooden swords serenaded her, bouncing off the close stone walls. She watched them from the top of the steps. Haven was vicious compared to Aela, despite Aela’s seniority. Aela resembled her father completely, tall and lithe, pale-haired with milky skin. Haven took after Nara, short and strong in frame, with ash brown hair and fierce olive eyes.

Nara turned as someone stood next to her. Vaeril was there, the father of the children they watched down below. He took his place at her side in his quiet grace.

He gazed down at his daughters with a light smile and rested a svelte hand on the limestone balustrade. Nara laughed as Haven struck Aela in the stomach when she wasn’t looking, making her keel over and seethe. Vaeril studied the same scene with utmost compassion.

You must pay attention, Aela! They’ll catch you when you’re looking away! Nara called out. The girls noticed their parents then and stiffened, tightening up their technique to impress them.

They’ve been at this for some time, Vaeril said, his voice silvery and composed. Nara felt he spoke the Mainlander’s tongue with more poise than she ever had. I heard them as early as dawn.

The practice will do them good. Soon they’ll use real swords, Nara replied. Vaeril looked at her with deep concern, making Nara crack a smile. With padding, of course.

They are only children, Vaeril said, looking back at them. His gaze was saddened—the dewy, lavender eyes he passed to Aela reflecting what little light slipped between the clouds. They should play and enjoy themselves while they can.

I want them to be ready. Nara appraised them, her expression hardening. She glanced at Vaeril—at his seraphic face and long hair like white mist. Not all of us live so long.

Vaeril offered a gentle smile.

You have many years ahead of you. He reached up and tucked a stray piece of sandy brown hair back into the criss-crossed leather strap that tied it together. He let his fingers brush the rounded curve of her ear, always fascinated by the differences between them.

A smile tugged at the corners of Nara’s lips. And how long does the crow live?

You know the sights are not specific.

When you see the crow again, try to glimpse a year on the proclamation board.

Vaeril mustered a light chuckle, joining his hands together before his waist. She looked at him, admired him.

There was a hard, thudding hit from the courtyard. Nara’s eyes darted to her daughters as Aela brandished her sword proudly.

Ha! she taunted. Back in your place, little sister!

Nara watched Haven as she sat on her knees, nursing a sore arm, her gaze tearing into her sister. Eyes flaming, Haven launched herself forward and swung madly, clipping Aela in the cheek with the hard wooden end of the sword. Aela screamed and fell to the ground, holding her face. Nara turned large eyes to Vaeril, who was already moving, leaving their station to tend to their daughters.

Haven stood over Aela, her shoulders lifting and falling as she panted, her face wild with rage. Vaeril pulled her away. She resisted briefly before yielding. Nara knelt beside Aela, gently pulling her hand away from her face and wincing when she saw the dark red mark across her cheek bone. Tears welled in Aela’s eyes as she looked up at her mother. Nara took her in her arms as she started to sob.

She deserved it, Haven spat, glaring up at Vaeril.

Look at her. Vaeril’s expression was as resolved as Haven’s. Look at your sister.

Haven refused, pivoting to face the other way and crossing her arms. Vaeril reached down and placed his fingers on her jaw, turning her head to Aela where she lay on the ground, crying into Nara’s abdomen.

Haven’s expression softened as she realised what she’d done.

People will be trying to hurt your sister all her life, Vaeril said softly. You shouldn’t be one of them.

Tears slipped silently down Haven’s cheeks. Nara gave her a hard stare, assuring her she would hear more later. For protection from her mother’s wrath, Haven leaned into Vaeril’s waist, crying now in her guilt, letting her tears soak the silk of his robes. He placed a hand on her head.

NARA STOOD OUT ON HER balcony, leaning her elbows on the limestone, peering out at that land she ruled. To the northwest cut the subtle mountain range cradling the settlement of Banks. There lived men who fished and traded with Elven lands. The city sprawled near the castle fortress, surrounded by high walls many called impenetrable. Nara knew it was not true, but the walls were a symbol of safety for the common folk, and perhaps that was enough. That city’s population neared 25,000, according to the last census. The castle and the city were called Lahan, but Lahan’s reach stretched across the Mainland.

Near the castle and surrounding city was Stone Lake, connected to the river bearing the same name, where loon song was heard as the sun receded over the horizon. Beyond the lake waited Rowse Forest, hiding the towns of Old Acomb and Stroude in a blanket of jack pine, aspen and balsam fir. There, wolves howled out mournful harmonies, and great-horned owls reared their young in empty crows’ nests. Across the river to the south were the Silent Plains—bare fields of blue grama and yellow grass where kings met for battle. To the west of the Plains was Silvrout, shrouded by the Oriel Forest, where men felled trees and traded lumber. From the far west of Silvrout to the high north of Oland, all lands fell under Lahan—all on the Mainland save for Grunid, which shrank greatly after the Mountain War.

Haven met her mother on the balcony. Aela was elsewhere, having a nurse tend to her injured face. Nara had requested that a servant fetch Haven to speak with her, hoping to mentor what she saw to be a small version of herself. Haven tentatively approached as the sun set over the outline of Rowse Forest. She looked up at her mother. Nara was planning her words, her eyes darting this way and that as she plotted them. Her lips twitched, trying to mouth the words as if she were saying them aloud. Her hands lifted from where they rested on the baluster, already amid an impassioned speech in her mind. Then her hands and lips fell still.

Your sister will be Queen someday, Nara said at last. She will need your loyalty undivided. You are how I am—a Crawforde, through and through. We have hot tempers, and good judgement in short supply. She looked down at her daughter and offered a small smile, easing Haven’s nerves. Yet we are strong defenders at our best. Aela will need this from you. You’ll be her advisor or captain of the guard...wherever she wants you.

Haven nodded slowly, her small hands placed one atop the other on the baluster.

Yes, Mother, she managed, her voice hoarse.

Nara’s eyes softened as she beheld her youngest child. She placed a hand atop her head, brushing her fingers through her thin hair. Haven had come into the world with a fury, with passion. Nara’s labour was particularly long and gruelling for her, and indeed there were times throughout when the queen wondered if Haven would ever come. Her second daughter was breech, to begin with. There was a moment of fright when Nara considered the possibility of her own death, and the void in power that would follow it—something kings never had to worry for. Yet, Nara survived, and Haven came into the breathing world squalling, screaming longer and harder than Aela ever did.

Nara’s face fell as she remembered something she was told earlier, news concerning relatives she truly did not feel like seeing.

My Aunt and Uncle Wembleye will be visiting us soon, she told Haven, hoping the child could take more joy in it than Nara could. They’ll bring my cousin Olyver.

Haven scrunched up her nose in distaste. An amused huff escaped Nara. Haven looked back out at the view as the trees turned black with the fading light.

May I stay in my chambers? she asked.

No, Nara said. We must all greet them. Treat Olyver kindly...and carefully. He is shrewd, despite his parentage.

And mean, Haven murmured.

Nara sighed, unable to disagree with the child. She sent Haven off to prepare for sleep and remained on the balcony well after darkness settled over the earth. She stood in deep thought, eyes trained on the moon. She was burdened by the knowledge of her relatives' visit. She had no doubts that her uncle, Lord Greysen, would urge her once again to make a move on their rival kingdom of Grunid. He had always been insistent that Nara see to completion what her father began.

A most calm evening, considering the storm we witnessed this morning. The soothing voice pulled Nara from her thoughts. She relaxed her shoulders as he removed the crown from her weary head—a stunning piece commissioned by the first King of Lahan. Nara wore that crown within the castle’s walls, in her court where she received guests.

Vaeril’s steps were soundless across the stone floors, a trait she’d grown used to with time.

Your children must seem like animals to you, she jested. I hear Elven children never fight.

They fight with words, said Vaeril. It brings deeper wounds than wooden swords. He deftly pulled the leather strip from her hair, releasing the tired strands.

Vaeril stepped up beside her as her crimped hair fell free. Nara looked at him, meeting his kind eyes. That violet blue changed depending on the light. At this hour, they were the colour of cornflowers.

If only they’d inherited your lamblike nature. Aela seems to have some of it, thank the stars, Nara said.

His eyes twinkled with teasing. "Thank the Rulers," he corrected.

She smirked, blinked slowly as she beheld him. Her state of dazed admiration faded. We will need to make arrangements for Aela’s betrothal soon, Nara said, knowing Vaeril would not be pleased. She wished to discuss it quickly, for that very reason. But Vaeril did not care for quick discussions.

She is only a child, he said, his fair brows knitting.

She’ll be betrothed. It will be some time before she is wed.

Such knowledge is too much for a child to shoulder. Surely, we can delay for a while yet. She has much to learn.

We are fortunate. Aela will stay here once she is married, since she is to be queen. It is only Haven we will lose to some other lord.

I should like to not lose either of them.

Nara looked at her husband and smiled. Like her, he loved his daughters. Nara supposed she showed it differently. She wanted them to be strong. Vaeril would shield them like chicks under his wing forever if he could.

Who would you have her marry? Vaeril asked, still seeming displeased with the concept.

I’ve considered the youngest son of the king in Ailmar.

You would send her to Eladalis? he whispered, horrified.

Nara gave a breathy laugh. You say it as though I’m sending her away to never be seen again. She would be there only for a while.

Ailmar is no place for Aela. She is a halfling.

I dare say Aela has more of an advantage than you ever did here. And she’s always tended towards Elven ways. She looks much like you.

Vaeril sighed and straightened his posture.

I doubt the Aephines will take kindly to a half-Elven match. They are staunch.

‘Tis a shame. Nara mustered a heavy sigh. The northern Elves were so tolerant. You’d be married off to some princess in Eladalis if they hadn’t been.

You were not fond of the match, if I remember. Vaeril turned from the balcony and entered the queen’s quarters, placing Nara’s crown at her bedside.

What young girl would be fond of marriage? Nara chuckled as she turned, her face falling when she saw Vaeril standing still as stone, facing away from her.

She rushed to his side and took his arm, leaned out to see his face. His eyes glowed a vibrant white, every part of them. She held his arm and kept quiet, knowing she would just have to wait for the sight to pass.

He blinked—his hand lifted to his temple and his eyes cleared. Nara reached up and set a hand on his cheek, hoping to offer comfort while, at the same time, waiting for him to tell her what he saw.

Vaeril looked at her steadily, his eyes sure.

The bear takes the crow.

Nara’s stomach dropped. Grunid?  Grunid takes Lahan?

He shook his head fervently. It cannot be, he murmured. The sigils I saw...the bear and the crow... his eyes met hers, and a shiver ran up her spine, they were infants both.

Chapter 2

Haven

HAVEN PREFERRED THE COMPANY of trees to people.

There was no bliss, the princess found, like that of wandering the woods with her thoughts and a pouch for collecting stones and mushrooms. She would bring them back to the castle, asking anyone who would listen about them. Her mother never had much patience for such affairs, but her father knew quite a lot, and he would sit with her to discuss her findings. At times, he would even go with her into the woods. His company, Haven did not mind at all. He said little, but when he did, his words meant something. It was rare to find companions who did not yammer on meaninglessly about everything under the sun. Haven always wondered if all Elves were like her father, and if they all might be pleasant to spend time with.

Vaeril shared her love of the forest. It was perhaps the only thing they truly had in common. In every other way, it seemed Haven had taken solely after her mother. She wasn’t entirely disappointed with that truth—her mother was strong, after all.

On that day, Haven was in a tree. Trees were easy for her to climb, and she went unseen by the world. She could watch life unfold before her. Haven climbed trees that were tall enough to see the village of Cael. She observed the commoners bustling to-and-fro down there, going about their business. Often, she envied them.

As Haven climbed the skinny limbs of the evergreen, sap stuck to her small hands and bark scraped her flesh. She liked the tingly sting that came with it—proof that she was away. The raw wind chilled her, but it also encouraged her onward as it blew the rich scent of pine and earth past her pink nose. She looked down and saw that she’d torn a small hole in her playing trousers.

Your mother is searching high and low for you. The voice, gentle as the breeze, made Haven startle, and she nearly lost her grip on the tree. She slipped, quickly regaining her footing. Be careful, my little robin.

Haven rolled her eyes—she hated when he called her that. Knowing that it was he who said it kept her from commenting. She understood it was a term of endearment for him, but she spent too much time being called little by everyone. There was nothing ‘little’ about Haven.

I just got out, she reminded her father, who stood at the bottom of the tree. When she looked at him, she thought the forest suited him. He looked like a mythical dryad when he moved along the forest floor, like the ones the nurse read to her about. He was quite unlike other fathers in Lahan—or perhaps other fathers were just unlike him.

Haven knew she was unlike most daughters too. Her playmates in Cael immediately noticed her ears, nowhere near as pointed as Vaeril’s, but still slightly sharp. She tried to cover them with her hair. She didn’t need anything else separating her from the commoners. Aela seemed to wear her own ears like some badge of honour. She was proud of her Elven blood. Aela could be stupid. Haven knew it was best to find common ground with others, rather than boast the things that made one different.

You must come greet your aunt and uncle, Vaeril called, and Haven wanted to go even less.

They can greet themselves, she muttered.

They’ve travelled a long way. They’ll want to see both you and Aela. Come before your mother comes after you herself.

Haven debated it before slowly descending the tree, making her father smile. She jumped down from the bottom branch, landing firmly on two feet. She looked up at him—his fair brows furrowed in distaste. Vaeril knelt and dipped a piece of his robe in the stream, using it to wipe Haven’s grimy face. She fought, finally yielding when he held firmly to her arm.

We’ll have you properly cleaned up at home, he sighed, rising to his full height. Come. He extended a hand, which she knew to take. His clean hand held her dirty one as they wandered back to the castle.

His long hair, a white gold like Aela’s, glimmered in the sunlight slipping between the branches.

You’re the only one who ever finds me, Haven grumbled. The servants never can.

They forget that my little robin spends all her time up in trees.

What do the Wembleyes want this time? Haven snapped, knowing from her mother’s rantings that the Wembleyes never came just to visit. Vaeril exhaled, leading her over the bracken-covered forest floor and pointing out raised tree roots to prevent her tripping. He never stumbled, but she was prone to it.

I could not tell you, he answered steadily. Your mother will speak with them about that. All you need to do is play with your cousin.

"My second cousin, Edha."

Vaeril smiled at her accented pronunciation of the word meaning ‘father.’ He’d taught her that when she was very young. Haven always thought it sounded much warmer than addressing him in the Mainland’s terms.

Your cousin, nonetheless, Vaeril reminded her.

When will Aela be married? Haven asked. She had been hearing whispers in the halls of matches the queen sought for Aela. Before long, lords and kings would be bringing their sons. Even at her young age, Haven knew that Aela’s hand was greatly coveted.

Vaeril was alarmed by the question. Not for some time, he answered. She is very young.

Haven was silent before she inquired further. When will I be married?

Not for even longer. Why do you ask?

I’d like to marry someone who could take me far away.

Hm, Vaeril murmured sadly, then his lips curved into a teasing grin. Perhaps I’ll never let you marry, he said. I’ll keep you here with me forever. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, but Haven couldn’t fathom the possibility of staying in that castle forever. Getting married isn’t the only way to see the other realms, Haven. Your mother travels to meet foreign lords. One day, she may take you with her.

Haven’s eyes lit up at the thought. In her experience, lords came to Lahan. She never thought about going out to meet them in their lands instead. She may see the twinkling, blue lanterns of Tairia, the sweeping mountain valleys of Ailmar, or the brutal, sand-dwelling Islemen. There were provinces within Lahan she’d never seen either—the forest people of Silvrout and the silver-miners in Oland. She supposed she’d be seeing some from Oland that very day—though she did not much look forward to it.

Vaeril and Haven arrived in the throne room just as Nara was sending men out to look for her daughter. Nara’s face fell when she saw the state of her youngest child, covered in smudged dirt and twigs. Aela stood beside their mother, lithe hands folded regally. She was dressed in a satin gown of the lightest blue with long sleeves Haven was sure one could trip over, her pale hair curled in ringlets. A single look at her sister and Haven knew it would be her own duty to entertain Cousin Olyver. The thought made her scowl.

The queen spoke. Our guests will be here within the hour. Raya will get you ready, Haven.

What do I have to wear? Haven whined.

A gown, child, of course! Nara said in her rough, commanding voice. The queen waved her daughter off to find the nurse. Haven looked up at Vaeril, hoping to evoke a pity from him that her mother did not willingly proffer. He gazed at her firmly and nodded towards the hall.

Haven rolled her eyes again and caught a smirk growing on her sister’s face. She glowered at Aela before releasing her father’s hand to go do Nara’s bidding.

Haven found the nurse Raya easily enough and was immediately plunged into a soapy bath and scrubbed head to toe. The bath was hurried, and Raya removed Haven from the water with soap still in her hair. She threw her clothes on—a simple linen gown with a wool kirtle dress atop it. Then came the braided belt at her waist with the small silver crow pin to clasp it. Compared to Aela’s attire, Haven’s was simple. For this, she was grateful.

Raya raked through Haven’s matted hair and hastily twisted it, guiding it around to form a crown’s shape at the back of her head. Raya brushed through her short bangs and sent her on her way. Haven realised, to her delight, that the nurse forgot her shoes. She beamed as she ran through the halls in bare feet, hoping it would last. The stone floors were cool against her skin—almost akin to dipping her toes in the forest creek.

Haven arrived just in time. She stood next to her mother, who sat in the throne. Her father stood on the queen’s right, and Aela was planted beside him. Servants waited nearby in case there was a need. The steward Bernard was near, as well as some guardsmen by the door. Nara turned to Haven, and her eyes travelled down to her feet. Haven tucked one foot atop the other upon being noticed. Her mother’s eyes grew wide, and her lips parted to speak. Before she could say anything, the guards were opening the doors.

The announcer came first, introducing their guests at length. The various titles seemed excessive to Haven, and she wondered why they couldn’t simply be known by their first names. In strode Lord Greysen Wembleye, the tall, robust baron with frown lines between his brows. He was followed by Aunt Alfreda, thin with hay-coloured, greying hair, and proud eyes. At her side was their youngest son, Olyver—a black-haired boy with a constant sneer on his reedy face. He would be fifteen by then.

Your Majesty, Greysen addressed the queen, bowing low. He looked at Vaeril, unable to keep the smirk from his face. Lord Vaeril.

To what do we owe the pleasure, Lord Wembleye? Nara asked, drawling.

The smile stayed in Greysen’s eyes as he observed her. Simply a visit, my Queen. It has been too long since we have been to your glorious realm.

Haven knew better. The Wembleyes had enough servants with them to stay for some time.

Haven watched Cousin Olyver as her mother conversed with Lord Wembleye. Olyver appeared as bored as Haven was, but it annoyed her when he did it. Surely, he should be paying attention. He would succeed his father someday. Haven didn’t need to pay attention. She was not the heir. Haven’s eyes flitted to Aela, who was listening intently.

See? Haven thought, aiming it at Olyver. That’s how an heir should act.

The guests were received in the banquet hall, where an extensive meal was served. Normally, Haven ate stew made with varying meats—whatever the hunting party caught—and bread with cheese. It was rare for there to be such a feast. They were given roasted boar with cooked vegetables and grapes. Grapes were unheard of. They came from Eladalis. Feasts like this one only happened when guests were visiting. Haven thought it was the one redeeming quality of receiving the Wembleyes.

Haven ate quickly, alarming her sister. Aela sat across from her and took her food daintily, taking her time with each bite. She gave Haven a disgusted sneer. Haven looked to Vaeril for defence as Nara spoke with both Greysen and Alfreda. Vaeril simply motioned for her to slow down, much to Haven’s chagrin. Aela once again smirked and returned her eyes to her own plate.

What happened? the boy’s scratchy voice piped up from beside Haven.

Both Aela and Haven turned to Olyver, who pointed at his own lean cheek. Aela’s face crimsoned and her hand absently lifted to her bruised face.

This little beast hit me with a wooden sword, Aela said grimly, her darkened eyes lifting to her sister.

You did that? Olyver asked. Haven nodded woodenly. ‘Tis good fortune to make an elder sibling bend the knee.

Aela scowled. For a moment, Haven liked Cousin Olyver a bit more than before.

There was little time for play after dinner. The Wembleyes arrived late in the day, and they spent the evening settling. Haven was relieved that she didn’t have to entertain her mother’s cousin but discontented with being sent to bed early. She played with the idea of roaming through the halls, ultimately yielding to tucking in for the night.

Hopefully, Olyver could be avoided in the morning as well.

Chapter 3

Nara

EARLY POLITICAL STROLLS WERE far from the queen's idea of a good morning.

She’d been invited on a walk with Lord Wembleye to discuss what she assumed would be his true reason for coming. The bloody Wembleyes always had some reason. Visits for the sake of courtesy alone were unheard of.

The cool dew clung to the blades of browning grass as the sun peaked over the horizon. The roses were wilting with the coming winter. Nara took to picking shrivelled buds from the stems as they conversed.

I’d like to know what it is you truly want, Lord Wembleye, Nara said at last, tiring quickly of the trivial matters Greysen raised. There was little reason to prolong it. Sooner or later, Wembleyes made their business known. Some lords were more opinionated than others.

Grunid is expanding rapidly, my Queen, Greysen said. I’m sure you knew that.

Aye, what of it?

Such expansion should surely warrant our attention. They inch closer each day.

Grunid is far from Lahan, and further from Oland.

For now.

Nara stopped and faced him.

What would you have me do? she asked, knowing he would tell her.

I would unite with you against them. Our combined armies could reverse this progress.

It is no crime to expand one’s territory.

Until the territory is ours. Until House Ramos rules House Crawforde.

Nara’s brows knit in offence at his words. They are gaining back territories lost during their last king’s reign. It is of no concern to me. The southron realms are no allies of ours. Should Grunid continue their expedition north, then it will be worthy of concern. Until then, Lord Wembleye, I still say we should not concern ourselves. We have bigger things to worry for than Grunid’s ambitions.

I would disagree, my lady. If Grunid continues as it has, war will be inevitable. We may as well kill the bear while it is still a cub.

Nara remembered Vaeril’s sight. The bear cub takes the crow chick. In Vaeril’s sights, typically their house was represented by a fully grown crow, never a chick. The chick may have meant that Lahan would be weakened, made vulnerable for seizing. If that were the case, even a weak Grunid could overtake them. Perhaps the bear cub was stronger than Nara thought.

Now is the time to strengthen ourselves, Lord Wembleye. If what you say is true, she told him. Attacking without a second thought could be detrimental if we do not know just how strong Grunid has become.

My lady, we should strike early. While it is wise to grow our strength, it also gives Grunid a chance to grow theirs.

Nara remembered something else about Vaeril’s sight. The serpent of Wembleye was nowhere to be seen. A smile passed over her lips.

Trust me, Lord Wembleye. It will be much better to wait. My husband had a sight. I do believe striking now could be detrimental.

Greysen’s expression hardened.

Forgive me, my lady. But the magic of Elves can be deceptive.

Nara said nothing.

As deceptive as Elves themselves can be, he added. His eyes were rigid.

Nara regarded him icily. Greysen’s eyes bore into hers, and he bowed his head. By your leave, my Queen. He spun on his heel and left the garden, his cape trailing behind him. Nara pressed her lips together as she watched him go, sighing and stooping to sit on the stone bench. She twisted a shrivelled rose between her fingers, wondering how long it would take Greysen’s frustration to subside.

Out for a morning stroll, my lady? The steward approached and sat down next to her. ’Tis the perfect hour for it. The sun just now rises.

It would have been far better had I not been joined by my dear uncle, Nara grumbled.

Ah, political discussions.

Hm. Nara tossed the rose over her shoulder. My relatives seek to divide me from my kin.

Hmm, Bernard murmured. Lords are useful, but they too often seek their own elevation.

Nara scoffed. It is certainly so with mine. Lord Greysen would have me attack Grunid for some petty expansion. I haven’t the funds or time to attack anyone. Until Grunid is at my doorstep, I shan’t concern myself.

Wisely decided, my lady. Lord Greysen will understand.

Perhaps.

Bernard inhaled, the breath sounding hollow in his aged chest, and pushed against his knees to stand. I received word from the Elven lords in Ailmar, my lady. It seems King Faelar is interested in a match between Princess Aela and his son.

It comes as no surprise, Nara sighed. It would appeal to him as it appealed to the Torriens. They are children still, but having a match secured is in our interest. It would be best if they could meet before anything is set in stone.

Of course, my lady.

Nara smiled softly. Vaeril will not be pleased, she mused.

Will Princess Aela?

Nara looked at him, her eyes widening. Oh, yes. Aela will be pleased.

Your line continues to fill the division between Elves and Humans.

So it would seem. Nara considered it, wondering how the people would take to such a match. Politically, it was wise. Diplomatically, it was questionable. The children Aela brought would be tiercelings—three parts Elven. They would look Elven, as Aela herself already did. There may be fears of an Elven monarchy forming, fears Nara wanted to avoid. But the alternative would be reaching out to Grunid, marrying Aela to Crassus Ramos’ boy. That was unthinkable. The people would hate either. She supposed there would be lower matches Aela could have—Human ones.

We are stronger with them, my Queen, Bernard said, as though knowing her thoughts.

The support of Elves is something of benefit, she agreed, murmuring. Their armies are strong and fierce, their trade valuable. My father knew so, and I didn’t see it at the time. She chuckled. A funny thing. My father knew he needed them, yet grumbled and complained about it anyway, ranted about those Elves at every turn. It’s in us to hate one another, even when we know we must join—isn’t it?

Bernard smiled peacefully and looked down at the frigid stone walkway. Perhaps it is in us to hate anything different from ourselves, he suggested. Anything strange.

Nara grunted and smirked. Aye. Yet we would have nigh lost that war without them. I’ll admit as much.

Bernard nodded, remembering well the Mountain War that ravaged kingdoms during Nara’s father’s reign. Bloody and brutal, and as close as the Crawfordes ever came to a loss. The only reason that victory was obtained were the Elven armies that King Cald had at his command, owed to his alliance with Tairia. The alliance was ground-breaking. There had never been such a deal made between those two kingdoms. Yet, Cald grew desperate as they neared Grunid’s mountains, and his men died by the thousands. Grunid had Elven soldiers of their own—ones from the Yellow Isle that fought with a frightful viciousness. Down to five thousand men, Cald sought an alliance with Tairia, and his daughter was married. The Torriens gave their youngest son and military support in exchange for aid from Lahan. Cald’s army helped the Tairians turn Liamaris and Waeslith into vassal provinces, and the Elven army helped Lahan defeat Grunid—all because of a marriage.

In the early days, Nara had been tentative around Vaeril. His customs were different from her own, and she was afraid of offending him. He was brought to her in Lahan. Compared to the boys in her own kingdom—with their coarse, short hair and missing teeth—Vaeril was otherworldly. He carried himself with an elegance of which Nara had never seen the like. He was courteous and polite, patient and kind. Even her father favoured Vaeril.

It took time to learn that his customs, though foreign, were much more like hers than she could have imagined. Elves got married, they had children, they showed each other their affection. It was similar with Humans, though Elves most often did these things with restrained respect and gentleness. Indeed, Nara had never met anyone so gentle as Vaeril. The men in her kingdom who were called ‘gentlemen’ made the term seem laughable compared to him.

Nara remembered her father arranging for her and Vaeril to spend time together when they were young and courting. He learned her language quickly, and she never fully learned his. It didn’t seem to bother him. He quickly developed a loyal love for her that Nara, even at her young age, understood would never come into question. As long as she lived, no matter what happened, Vaeril would be loyal to her. At the time, she thought it was all Elves who possessed such fierce loyalty. It was a common trait, to be sure, but Nara learned that Vaeril was especially faithful. He was utterly devoted to her and her kingdom, from the very first day they were betrothed. With time, after the war was won, his sight was revealed. The gift inherited from his grandmother brought him sights showing the future, often in vague, symbolic imagery that Nara could never comprehend. It was strange at first, something the lords were tempted to dismiss as Elven foolery. With time, his sights were proven true, and his gift became a valued tool in Lahan.

Nara became queen when she was eighteen upon her father’s death in the war he won for her. The victory feast tasted sour in Nara’s mouth, knowing that she lost her father and inherited his kingdom. Grunid was at bay, and Nara hoped she would never battle with the bear again.

Nara rose from the bench, intending to find Aela and inform her of the Aephine king’s interest in a match.

As she had presumed, the princess was thrilled. An Elven prince to marry, no doubt much like her loving father, who could counsel her when she became queen. Her children would be nearly completely Elven—Aela could hardly fathom it. Nara was still unsure if esteem would find Aela’s tierceling children in any realm. They would be too Elven for the Mainland, and too Human for Eladalis.

Nara watched Vaeril closely as they witnessed their daughter’s glee. He still seemed troubled. Nara understood that Vaeril had his hesitations when it came to the Aephine lords, ancient rivals of his own house. Their feud had dwindled down significantly since their last war, hundreds of years ago. Elves lived much longer than Humans and held onto past quarrels longer because of it. It often baffled the queen, but she chose not to raise it. Nara did hesitate to compromise her standing with Tairia for an alliance with Ailmar, but there was always the chance that they would serve her loyally together rather than using it as an excuse to come against each other once again. After all, if Nara avoided alliances with kingdoms who hated each other, she would have no alliances at all.

Hours passed into evening and Nara allowed the fools to take over entertaining her visiting relatives.

Chapter 4

Bardia

THE BOY WAS A skilled smith.

He'd fashioned himself a great many swords, and sold a great many more. It was required to make his meagre living and keep from starving. He’d made blades for prominent knights and lords passing through his town of Cael. He was thin as the knives he forged, but his body hosted a quiet strength, surprising muggers he encountered.

A business he kept secret also paid his living wages. Bardia would kill nobles for coin, willing to take nearly any job for the man who paid him enough. None suspected a boy of fourteen. Bardia was quick as a shadow and just as difficult to catch. He was silent as the grave when he struck, and he had never been caught.

He remembered his first assignment—Lord Raynar Black of Ballard. A man by the name of Hanin Caldwelle met Bardia as he sat a beggar on the path to Cael, collecting coins from the generous. He could still remember Hanin—a willowy man with a pointed beard and squinty, gleaming eyes. He did not know Bardia, but he looked at him as though he did. He dressed like a merchant, in rich brocades and muslin from the Isle. He asked Bardia if he’d ever killed a man. Bardia answered that he had, but claimed it was all in fairness, since the man sought to steal from him. Hanin stood with his fists on his hips, asked Bardia if he knew who he was. Bardia told him he knew him not, and the man said that this was well and good. He did not give his name then. Bardia only learned his name after the job was done, after Hanin Caldwelle was styled Lord of Ballard, as Raynar Black had formerly been.

Bardia took the job for five gold pieces, and the Caldwelles had ruled as Lords of Ballard ever since. Five gold pieces bought Hanin Caldwelle a minor province. Now, Bardia could scoff at it.

That was when Bardia was twelve. The slaying of a lower lord like Raynar Black wasn’t much to brag about, but word reached the right—and richest—people of Bardia’s skill, a skill he never thought he had.

Bardia’s renown spread. Those who needed him sought him out and paid handsomely for his services. With time, procurers knew to find him at the smithy, where they would be greeted by the boy.

This was where Bardia was found by a cloaked man with little information to give.

The man approached Bardia after nightfall—when the boy hammered glowing orange steel in the dim light. The stranger kept his hood up, his face cast in shadow. Bardia was suspicious of the stranger, but hardly hesitant. Noblemen always sent shady figures like this to do business with him.

Godden, sir. What can I do for you? Bardia asked, dousing the hot metal in a barrel of water, listening to the sizzle.

I’ve an errand for you, boy, the man told him. A special one, worth a pretty prize.

Go on then. Bardia appraised the blade as he pulled it up.

My master wishes for you to take a highborn lady.

I prefer slitting the throats of lords in their beds. Much easier than abduction.

Your weight in gold would be paid to you...and then some. Enough for a ship. Enough for an army, if you like.

Bardia’s steely eyes met the stranger’s as he stuck his blade back in the fire. I should like to know who your master is that he can pay so much. Some local lord or foreign?

My master stays unnamed, boy, the man said sharply.

Bardia pulled the red-hot metal from the fire again, placing it on the anvil and taking up a hammer. And who would this highborn lady be? The hammer struck, and the shrill sound rang.

The crown princess in the citadel.

The hammering ceased. Bardia returned the steel to the barrel.

The same crown princess who sits in a high castle tower with armed guards at her door each night and a servant checking in hourly, no doubt? Bardia drawled.

The very same, the man replied. But I assure you, boy. Should you agree to this, my master will make it most easy for you. You’re not serving some petty earl. The most difficult thing would be taking the princess from the castle.

No small task, though you speak of it like it is.

I understand the difficulty of this undertaking, as does my master. We will remain in contact throughout, and he will arrange everything for you in advance.

Bardia hesitated as he threw the steel back in the fire. This gold had better be as much as you say.

The man smiled. Your payment will be far more than I could describe to you now, boy.

Bardia eyed the stranger dubiously, wondering just who this man was but understanding his own business well enough by then not to ask. It certainly was a demanding task he’d been presented with, but it seemed it would be profitable for him, despite the risk. Should he be caught, he would be executed for conspiracy against the Crown. However, the gold could buy Bardia a way to a certain aim of his own, one that no one knew of except for himself.

Are you wanting the princess harmed? Bardia asked. Or simply kidnapped. I suppose you want ransom for her.

No ransom. We would prefer it if she never returned. Once you have her, you may do what you wish with her, so long as she never returns to Lahan. Can you manage this?

Aye.

That is all my master asks, the man bowed his head.

Well, sir, Bardia scoffed. You have me.

A slow smile spread across the other man’s face.

Very good, he said. My master will be pleased. He glanced down at the sword Bardia was forming. A fine blade, boy.

Bardia huffed. A tool, nothing more.

The stranger departed.

Bardia considered the task as he worked on the sword. Every task he was assigned, he could lose his life for—this one in particular. There was little escaping royal wrath. He’d be done away with if he was caught. Even so, the boy had always seen his life as something that could be shed like a cloak if need be. 

Bardia wasn’t sure how he would go about it, but he was certain he would pull it off. He had everything he needed to scale the castle walls. Indeed, that would be the easy part. The difficult bit would be the actual taking of the princess. He hoped the man who visited him was right, and the task would be made simple for him. He wasn’t sure what kind of power that man wielded, but he hoped it was legitimate.

Bardia had planned out castle infiltrations in his head countless times before, as he’d performed many in the past. He often pictured what it would be like to scale the thick, stone walls and slip in through narrow windows. Once inside, the aim would be to avoid detection. He would need to sneak past guards, maids, servants, the like. If he managed that, his next aim would be to access the nobleman. That would be the trickiest bit. They were the most heavily guarded people in the household. But, if he managed to sneak by, and if he managed to access the ruler, the power was in his hands to decide the fate of kingdoms.

It was an exciting daydream. But this was no assassination assignment. This was an abduction. What he would do with the princess once he had her, Bardia did not know. Perhaps he could sell her off to some slaver for more gold than he was already promised. The problem with that would be disclosing her identity, something he would need to treat carefully. The wrong people finding out who she was could end badly for him. If that were the case, Bardia would need to rely on her beauty for her value. He had never seen the princess, but he knew that she was part-Elf. The appearance of Elves was off-putting to Mainland lords more often than not. Bardia had only seen an Elf one time, and his memory of it was hazy.

Bardia would await word from the stranger. Typically, he was left with some knowledge of who hired him. Even when Hanin Caldwelle refused to disclose his identity, Bardia could tell he was highborn from his clothes alone. His immediate ascension as Lord of Ballard was far from surprising once the deed was done.

But there was no indication of who the stranger wanting the princess taken might be—no sign on his clothing to show status, no pin of a noble house or physical trait of any family. No, this man was sent. Sent in the place of the true conspirator who wished for Bardia’s service. Whoever that nobleman was, his sent man offered nothing for Bardia to infer his identity.

Like Hanin Caldwelle, not even a name.

Chapter 5

Nara

NARA ASSEMBLED HER THINGS, preparing for a journey she hadn’t anticipated.

The servants were bustling about, and she would leave that evening. The sooner she could get started on the journey, the better.

The Queen’s mother was ailing, and rapidly at that. It was just the news Nara was dreading, and it came at a particularly tense time. She pressed her palms to her eyes as the pounding headache plagued her. Nara did not wish to leave her kingdom as it was—hosting Wembleyes and waiting for Grunid to do something foolish. She wouldn’t bring her daughters with her. They would be miserable as they travelled, and bored once they arrived at Rowena Crawforde’s estate. There was little to do there, no wooden swords to play with, no hounds to throw sticks for, no stoats to hunt. There was little to entertain children. This was a journey the queen would make on her own, and she would entrust her daughters with their father. Indeed, he was better at tending to them than she was most of the time.

Nara sighed, frustrated with the sharp headache that refused to subside.

You need the cordial, said a familiar voice in the doorway. It will help with your pain.

Nara didn’t turn as Vaeril entered.

I always forget, she admitted tiredly. I do not have time at the moment.

Vaeril stepped carefully into the bedchamber and stood beside her bed of scattered gowns, letting his fingers drift over the fabric of the dresses she laid out.

Give your mother my best.

I always do, Nara assured him. Give Lahan my best.

He returned her careful smile. I always do.

There must always be these seasons, it seems—everything in chaos.

"In Tairia we call this hæn."

Does that mean mind-muddling hurly-burly?

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. It means ‘the winter in which nothing is promised.’ He reached down and folded up one of the gowns, his hands always needing to make his surroundings neater in some way. We are not meant to know what comes next. For whatever reason, such knowledge is not given to us.

Says you, Nara jested. Have you had other sights? Her tone turned serious.

Vaeril shook his head. None.

Well, I will heed the one.

A servant approached, carrying one of Nara’s trunks with another attendant. All is prepared, m’lady, the girl informed her. Whenever you are.

Thank you. I will be along shortly. Prepare the carriages.

The servant nodded and took her leave. Nara and Vaeril were left in stillness. The queen’s eyes were trained on the far window. She already dreaded the journey. It would take a week to reach her mother, and she had no way of knowing how long she would be away. She hated to leave Vaeril with such a burden.

Involve the girls, where you can, she requested. Aela wants to learn how to rule. You’re a better teacher than I am—

Nara was interrupted when Vaeril pulled her into a firm embrace, firmer than his embraces usually were. It made Nara wonder if Vaeril feared something would happen. His intuition was nothing to be dismissed. He was usually right. Despite her suspicion, she returned his affection, leaned the side of her head against his shoulder.

I will miss you, my love, he said softly. 

Nara sighed.

And I you, she returned. This kingdom will thrive in my absence. You are a more competent ruler than ever I have been.

Vaeril separated from her and took her face in his hands, noticing how weary her eyes were. He offered a comforting smile, which filled her with peace.

You still have the eyes of the child who inherited your father’s kingdom.

Full of fear? Nara japed.

Full of anticipation...as well as fear.

Nara scoffed. I suppose I do always anticipate something...foul or fair. Most times, what I encounter is foul. She looked up at him, letting her eyes flicker over his face. Then there are the fair things that find me. Her voice was soft as a river stream.

As the second brother, Vaeril was the alliance keeper, married off to ensure Tairia maintained her foreign relations. Nara was certain even Vaeril could have never anticipated being married into her line, bridging the centuries-old break between Elves and Humans. She recalled the two groups seeming to stand yards apart on the pages of her history books when she was a child—they stood that same distance when they met to discuss the terms of the alliance, each keeping their distance, wary of the other.

In her youth, Nara imagined Elves as mystical and beastly, heartlessly cruel, and cold. Where men felt kindness for others, Elves surely did not. They hid their savagery behind a thin veil of decorum and grace. When her father informed her that she would wed one, Nara was dismayed. Then, she met Vaeril for the first time. Not a beast at all, but a boy—a boy who stood there next to his father as she stood with hers. A child quite like herself who smiled and laughed under the summer sun. He was the most beautiful child she’d ever seen. She feared he would consider her a piglet compared to the girls he was used to, with her messy hair and missing baby teeth. But he treated her with a kindness unlike she had ever seen before, and he was amused by her blunt humour.

Nara stepped back from her husband with tears in her eyes, cursing herself for her emotion. She would return before long, but she hated to leave her family. He pressed his forehead to hers.

I will protect what you’ve built, he promised her.

You always have. She smiled in good faith before pulling away, fearing she might never go if she didn’t do so then.

Vaeril smiled gently and left her to prepare, his peaceful mien easing her strain.

Chapter 6

Aela

AELA WAS CONTENT TO sit with her needlework while her sister shot arrows into haybales with Cousin Olyver in the evening courtyard.

The boy was a peril, and Aela was happy to make him Haven’s problem. She had more pressing things to concern herself with, such as daydreaming of her future marriage. She had never met Prince Felaern of Ailmar, but she had seen portraits and heard stories. He was beautiful and pure-Elven—golden-haired as Aephines always were, lithe and graceful, gregarious and musical. They would go so well together. Even at her young age, she was certain she would love him.

Haven could never hope for such a match. Aela was sure she would kill a suitor who showed her any amount of affection. Haven was in the habit of tearing everything down rather than building anything up. At least, that was how it appeared to Aela as she watched her sister play like a boy with their cousin, practicing with short bows. Haven was a skilled archer, and it was perhaps the only bit of her Elven blood that showed up in her. In all other ways, she embodied the vociferous roughness of Humans, and she never tried to hide that fact. Haven wore tunics rather than dresses—drab things made from rough wool that hemmed above her bony knees. Aela only ever wore such things at play.

There you are, called Bernard the steward. Aela turned to face him, smiling warmly. He winced when he saw her bruised face, and placed a tender, wrinkled hand on her cheek. By now, the bruise had turned dark purple, green rimming it. Your poor face, dear one, he crooned. Does it still pain you?

Not anymore, sir, Aela replied. Edha says it’s healing well.

Aela glanced at Haven to see if she was looking. Aela took satisfaction from it when her sister was forced to acknowledge what she had done in